101 Ways To Get Away With Murder
by The Embedded Shame
Summary: Patrick Bateman's urges and wants are getting the best of him. And just when he's considering admitting himself in an asylum, he comes across someone who makes him feel not alone, and not afraid. But what's her story? She isn't as innocent as her talks.
1. Charm

**Author's Note** No, I do not own any of the characters of the amazing Bret Easton Ellis. This chapter will be told from Patrick's point of view. It has been edited, with more detail and a more intake of his character before the dilemma.

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**101 Ways to Get Away with Murder**

_Original Plotting and Original characters by __the Embedded Shame_

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I looked around impatiently, watching out for my damned driver. He was never on time, and ever so often he did show up, I'd try so hard not to strangle him. I decided to walk the rest of the way back to my building. I needed some exercise anyways. As I turned onto 56th and Hemingway, I tried so hard not to puke, since everything around this part of town had such a vile smell to it. The gutters were over flowing, and at every corner lay a man who'd passed out from the intakes of alcohol. My hands dug themselves in my coat, as the drop in temperature suddenly awoke me. I shuddered, and continued walking, making sure not to slip on the innocent little layer of ice which covered the streets. It would be such a shame to dirty this coat.  
You see, though every part of my body functioned normally, and though I had the same components a normal human would...not one of my emotions were identifiable. Except greed. And jealousy. And my ever growing wants for blood lust. It was getting to a point where this need, this hunger, now controlled what I did, who I did it to, and why I did it. I was dead within, and all that belonged to me were these two eyes. But this impostor was slowly molding into them, as well.  
I sighed, in frustration, shaking off every speck of doubt of my mentality away. My right hand studied the elements of the coat pockets.

Lint.  
Lint.  
Knife...

Huh! Must have left it in their from last night's...barbecue. I pulled it out and studied it, stopping in my tracks. My eyes rested on the silver handle, as my tongue caught the taste of blood which had dried out on the tip of the weapon. Just then, a deep voice pulled me away from myself, and a hand turned me the other way. For a second, I was confused. Then, the face became more clearer. A chubby, but not fat, man stood before me. How dare he show his face to me?

"Sorry, Mr. Bateman, I know I was supposed to ..."  
"Where were you?" I managed to say this in a calm tone.  
"Sir, my wife, she - she just delivered!"  
"Oh, really?" A wide grin spread over my face. Not enlightenment, though. Oh, no. Not that at all.  
"Yes, sir, and she needed me there... "  
As he continued to talk, I smiled like I was actually listening, and wrapped my right arm around him, walking in the direction of a '94 black Mustang which rested on a curb down the street. Ah, crap. Have to walk there now and act as if I actually give a damn.

He mumbled a few apologies here and there, and asked if I was going to fire him.  
I stopped him before he ran into the trunk of the car, and made him face me.

"Listen, Bill --"

"Kirk, Mr. Bateman."

Damn. He interrupted me. Why'd he interrupt me?

"Shut up. I don't care what your name is, who you impregnated, or what you're gonna name your kid. All I asked was for you to come pick me up, and make easy two thousand dollars."  
"But, sir --"  
"Shut up. Unless you want a fucking knife, which I used to just slit the cunt of a hooker yesterday night, up your ass, you will never be late again."

It was only then his eyes drifted down to see what my hands were playing with this entire, and lovely, conversation.  
They went wide, at first, and then a smile spread across his face. The most disgusting, happiest, and full of life smile ever. Then, the most loudest laugh escaped his throat.

"You're funny, Mr. Bateman!" He walked to the front of the car, opening the door, and slid in the driver's seat.

I sighed, and opened the back seat.

Just as he'd started the car, a blonde bombshell, and I say this because no other words could come up, walked by. She looked to be around twenty … maybe eight? Close to thirty, but definitely not over that. The stern and depressed look on her face made me wonder what could possibly be wrong, and if she needed someone. As she passed me by, her hair made contact to my nostrils, as I whiffed a hint of what her shampoo could be.

_Ah, strawberries!_

"Bill, I think I'll walk."

"Kirk, sir."  
I heard a scoff of disbelief from the character. As I shut the door, the man drove off. The girl looked in my direction, and quickly as that, looked way.

"Hey!" I yelled from the other side of the road, running towards her. And though I didn't know her...I didn't mind.

"Hi." She spoke, ever so softly, looking confused and dazzled at the same time.

The woman stopped in her foot steps, turning to face me. She didn't know me from anywhere, but tried to act as she did. I took a long shot here, and guessed that she either was a waitress, or a hooker. She stood at around 5'6, opposed to my proud six foot height.

The girl opened her mouth, to speak, but the first thing that escaped her mouth was a moan.

"Do I know you?"

"No, I don't think so."

She turned around, in disgust, and I took a deep breath.

"Do you … maybe want to grab some coffee?"

And I said that with a devilish smile, too, wondering how sexy I looked right about now. If only there was a mirror here...

She hesitated, but I knew she couldn't resist.

_Hurry up, you bitch_, I was growing more impatient inside, but needed to act calm and collected if I ever had any hope of getting laid tonight.

"You're paying," she finally answered, with a smile, and started to walk beside me.

I smiled at her, and sheepishly laughed at that. Was that meant to be a joker? Well, that sucked.

"What kind of client would I be if I didn't?"

There was supposedly a cafe a few blocks down. I guess we could walk...

It was a surprise she kept up with my fast pace, but she managed to be right next to me the entire time. Damn, I was getting bored. As the cafe came into sight, a sudden pour started, and we ran towards the entrance, careful not to slip on the sheet of ice laying underneath us.

As soon as we entered, a few heads turned our way. Old, horny and disgusting heads. I figured they weren't looking at me, since I didn't wear a skirt barely up to my knees. I ignored them, and walked to a booth next to the only window there was in the whole confined space.

_What a fucking whore. I should slice her up right here, right now … _

I forced a smile, as she sat in front of me, smiling.

"Thanks again for the coffee, darling. But don't expect something back," she continued, "I'm not that type of girl."

_Oh, Really? Fuck, you had me all confused._

I just smiled back. By now, there was a waitress by my left shoulder. I looked up at the frail and petite woman, who presented them the menu. She was gorgeous.

"You know … with your cheek bones … you really shouldn't have your hair pulled back."

The waitress took a moment to take it all in. I could tell she hadn't received a proper compliment in a long while. Then a repulsed expression carried heavily on her face, which would have been apparent to anyone within a kilometer.

"What would you like to have?" she ignored me, and quickly looked at the woman. I looked to my right in embarrassment.

"Black coffee, please."

As soon as the waitress took her order, she proceeded to take my order. I didn't smile, embarrassed and outraged, but said I'd have the soup.

There was a moment of silence between us, until the food arrived. I watched my companion as she eyed my soup with hunger and want, even though she quietly drank the coffee.

_What? You want this? Take it! It tastes like shit anyways!_

I had another spoon ordered, and presented that to the woman, forwarding the bowl of soup to her, also.

She looked at me thankfully, and took the food.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Mary Sue, and yours?" she replied back.

_Mary Sue? What a fucking hillbilly name!_ I laughed inside.

"Patrick. Patrick Bateman," I pulled out my card, giving her only a second to read it, as I put it back in my pocket, ever so smoothly. This gesture of mine didn't impress the girl. She was just grateful for a meal, paid by someone else. She'd pay. I had plans.

"You wanna come to my place after?"

She thought for a second, putting the spoon down.

"Sure," she continued, "Unless that's a bother."

"No, no bother at all. I'm sure we'll have lots of fun."

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**Thank you for reading, and make sure you review. Thanks again.**


	2. Motivation

**Please Take Time To Read The Author's Note** I take no claim over the character that is Patrick Bateman, or any other you may recognize from the movie and/or novel. Today's chapter will be told from the point of view of Patrick Bateman.

**Warning** Stop reading if you are allergic to extreme abuse of language, and sexual content of that sorts. Thank you ! Don't review unless all you are going to do is flame on this, or tell me how twisted of a mind I have. Trust me, it's going to only get better.

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**101 Ways to Get Away With Murder **

**_" Motivation_**** "  
**

_Original Plotting and Original characters by __the Embedded Shame_

I rummaged through my sheets, leaving behind the corpse of the bitch I'd picked up last night, making my way to the bathroom, the tiny shit hole. Even small issues like these made me question my body image, though some ahem women would say I was the epitome of men they'd fuck behind their husband's backs. Oh, well. A thousand more crunches a day wouldn't hurt. Thinking back again, I had to admit, Mary Sue put up a good fight, but fuck was she a bore in the bed. I mean, come on! You could have at least showed more enthusiasm in giving a man a fucking blow job. Especially a man with a fucking gun to your head! Oh, well. She made the choice, and I guess I'll see her in hell ... not that i'd planned on going to hell. I heard that if you say the God's name on the verge of dying, he spares your soul. But I wonder if he can tell if someone says it in vain? Not that I would... HEY! I love the big man upstairs.

_Oh God, Please! I don't want to die, please! _

Images of the dead woman from the night before ran in my mind. Over and over ... and over and over again. I remembered her shampoo, I think. Strawberries? Yes, strawberries. God, that was a great smell, something I hadn't smelt in a long time. In fact, the last time I did smell it was ... '85 ? Yes, Barbara McCullen's house warming party. Oh, God! Weren't the 80's oh so fun? Come the 90's, and it was suddenly all about Dior, Chanel, Gucci, Armani, and cops on your fucking ass if you're having some late night fun with a woman, who fucking PAYS YOU for sex, NOT the other way around, Jackson Dristan! That's right, ya fucking know it all cop, I'll come after you soon as I get your address.

Anger started flaring inside me, as I brushed my teeth harder and harder, to the point where my gums started bleeding.

_I'll do anything, please. I've got a kid, I ... I wanna see him grow up! I even have a little college fund, please. I'll give you the money from that! There's got to be at least a few thousand in it!_

I looked up in the mirror, only after spitting the paste out. By now, the sink was a engulfed with a foam that was pinkish - white. My gums hurt, but I didn't care. Or did I? I turned the hot water tap on, and waited for the water flow to heat up. Then, I put my brush to the left of me, on a tissue paper, so that the blood and foam wouldn't stain on my new granite counter I had just installed, myself. The sheen was still needed to be applied, but I think I'll get a professional to do that. Anyways, I cupped my hands into the shape of a bowl, and gathered some water, however it may have burnt my hand. I took the water, and brought it to my lips. In a second, it was in my mouth, as I tossed it with my tongue to different areas of my mouth. I did this for about one minute. You see, I believe in good hygiene. I spat the water out, into the drainer, not missing my target.

I splashed the water on my face, applied soap, and washed it again. I did this 3 times, and blow dried my hair.

_You're a freak! God won't spare you, you twisted fuck! _

Those words really did struck a chord, and even though I'd been told this by the last 20 women I fucked, tortured and maybe tried to cook, coming from her really had me awestruck. I don't know why, but it felt like ... I was lacking something. Something that was essential. Sex? No, not really. Friends? Too much of them. Er... _unprotected _sex? Actually, I have that all the time. Whatever it was, it was holding me back. Holding me back from my usual activities. No, it was probably nothing.

After doing my crunches, and my daily routine, I made my way to my bedroom once again.

I looked at the body, laying there. To tell you the truth, the bitch looked more sexier with nails through her palms, and ankles.

I suddenly wanted to pounce on her, but her body was starting to smell. God damn, I should have put her in the freezer before fucking her for the twentieth time last night. But I forgot. Hey, can you blame me? I've been up for the last 26 hours, and I needed to get laid...fast. I really should control my urges, I told myself. But there was something unusually warm about doing it with a corpse. And I am not referring to her vagina.

I left the room again, with realization that I needed to get rid of the body, and do it fast. Upon entering the living room, the first thing I looked at was the clock. It was only six in the morning, and the sun hadn't even come up yet. Or maybe it had, but the November fog just was so thick this morning.

"Ha! God's spared me today," I yelled back into the bedroom, making my way now to the kitchen.

"You know, I was starting to like you."

I had to get on my tip toes to reach what I wanted, inside a cabinet on top of the stove. I pulled out a knife. Making my way to the other end of the kitchen, I realized that the stove had also been left on. Oh, how silly of me! I forgot to turn that off, as well, when I was heating up the nails so they would easily pierce her skin. I turned back, turned the stove off, and ended up back to where I was. Next to the trash can, there was a stack of black plastic garbage bags.

While heading past my sofa, I grabbed my new pink raincoat, and made way into the bedroom once again.

No, wait. Don't confuse me! I'm not gay. I suppose I should explain. Last month, I caught Jean going through my planner, and she just happened to come across my artsy pictures of ... ahem, boobies and such. It was quite embarrassing, really. But I couldn't have her telling everyone. So I did what one could do, without any weapon of some sort. I bashed her skull on my desk. You gotta love soundproof walls! You never know which faggot would be by the other end. Yes, Luis. You.

Now, it was just happened to be Friday, and everyone had left work early. So the building was empty. I quickly made my way to the janitor's and got one of those HUGE recycling bins, ones you'd find in front of those yuppie houses. I retreated back to my office, with the bin, and put her body in it, and, since I couldn't have gone unnoticed dragging a fucking recycling bin in my Armani man suit, I decided i'd "borrow" something from the impound lot next door. Hey, dad? Thanks for teaching me how to hot wire a garbage truck.

It was a pity, Jean's death. But I just couldn't risk having Kimball on my ass again. Nobody would miss her. She didn't really have a lot of friends, and she never mentioned her family. Well, that wasn't true. I'd miss her. She was the one women that I didn't want to kill. Damn these circumstances, baby. They get the best of you.

Oh, the raincoat? Yeah, Jean ripped it. The pink one? That was a gift from that faggot Luis. Of course, before I killed him. We were having lunch ... don't ask ... and the conversation got so awkward that I just had to mention Huey Lewis, and that led to something about a ripped raincoat. The next day, there was this basket with pink roses and a rain coat, still in its plastic wrapping.

Ah, I seem to drift off everywhere. Where were we? Oh right.

As I walked to the woman in my bed, correction, dead woman, I licked the knife. Mm ... silvery. It would taste so much better with blood.

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_**Goodbye.** Thank you for reading, and please review. I swear it's going to get better!_


	3. Deterioration of The Mind

**Author's Note** This Chapter will also be told from the point of view of Patrick Bateman. I apologize for making you all wait for part four, but hey! I have a life, too. With that said, the character that is Patrick Bateman himself does not belong to me, but to Bret Easton Ellis.

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**101 Ways to Get Away With Murder **

**_" Deterioration of The Mind_**** "  
**

_Original Plotting and Original characters by __the Embedded Shame_

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I looked around. There were people walking by, staring at me. I sat up on the bench, greeting the afternoon sun, even though it's rays tortured and burned me for my sins.

Had I slept here last night? Did I get wasted again? I yawned, and got off the bench, fixing my hair.

_Fuck, do I reek or what!_

I started walking towards the water fountain, which was parallel to the bench I had woken up on.

Then, my memory started coming back to me.

Three months.

I had gone three months without blood, and without any contact with the world, and it was driving me crazy. The words Mary Sue had said had sunk in my mind, and would not leave me alone. I told myself that everything was fine, and nobody knew my secret. Lies. There are always witnesses. In movies, and in real life. They might not have eyes, but they knew of my ways, and planned what to do with me after death. These witnesses would testify against me when i'd die, and what awaited me in the next life would be more than what I had been doing to these poor souls.

I need salvation, and I needed it now more than ever, though I doubt God would grant me it. Today, i'd stop by at the church.

Bending down, I pressed on the hand sign, and water flowed out of the round, dark hole. What do you call that thing? And why couldn't it be triangular? Why was the water not black, why did it have to be transparent...

For a second, I was mesmerized.

This wasn't the first time i'd drank water, but before, I never took the time to actually think about how clean it was. How fresh it made someone feel, how it washed away the sins of one, or so i'd heard.

"Drink the damn thing already," someone yelled from behind me.

I did just that, and the coldness of it against my lips made me cringe, yet I drank it like I hadn't had a drink in forever.

I collected myself, wiping the droplets of water off my chin with the arm of my coat, and headed towards the church, only after asking someone the time. It was four pm. How the hell did I get here?!

The walk to the church was at least an hour long, maybe because I was walking with the pace of a fucking turtle, but I made it there. As I claimed myself on the steps of the church, I looked up at the statue of the Holy Mother, blessed be her womb, holding onto a baby Jesus. It glistened under the sun, as the rays reflected off of it. Behind it was a huge cross, hanging from the triangular stained glass window.

I walked through the iron doors of the church, entering a reminding silence. I seated myself infront of the stage, looking onto the candles burning bright.  
A cold breeze entered the empty room, as my hair danced in the cold. The sun had settled, bringing forth the same January fronts i'd hid from this last month.  
Someone had taken a seat behind me. I chose to ignore, but the scent of her perfume was ever so alluring. My serial killer instincts were going awol within me, reminding me of the lust I once craved, what I once lived for, but bringing with them the same thoughts i'd retreated here for, to escape my inner demons.

For solid 20 minutes, we sat there. She didn't know it, feel it, or even see it, that I had my fists clenched, and my eyes burned with lust and the need for blood. She should have left...

My mind was deteriorating as we speak, and deceiving me.**  
**

If she stayed here that long, I didn't know if I was going to be able to control myself.

Ten more minutes passed, the need became stronger ... and stronger ... and stronger...

_Please...get away from me...you fucking bitch, leave!_

Then, the holy doors opened once again, not closing. Someone stood there, scanning the room.

I felt his eyes on me. A wicked sense of adrenaline washed over me. What was he thinking? Did he know me? Had he been a witness to one of my murders? Why was he here?!

I calmed myself, telling my betraying mind that he was probably just here for the same reasons as me, for salvation and forgiveness, but his sharp voice drew me.

"Your time's up,"

I turned around to look at him. He stood at the same height as I did, with his dirty blond hair and blue eyes, still at the door.  
He wasn't looking at me.

"Not you, sir. Sorry for bothering you."

"It's...f-fine," I trembled on my words, careful that he didn't notice my nerves giving away.

Still looking back, I decided to take a glimpse at the girl. I couldn't help it.

Her long black hair danced in the wind which still flew in the room, because the man had not yet shut the door behind. Her eyes were closed, and she didn't notice me. Soft rock music blared from her ear buds, although she seemed to be deep in prayers. Her complexion was as white as snow, and I felt like touching her skin right now. Instead, I looked from a foot away, adoring her fake but innocent beauty. Her right hand held onto a silver cross which she held on for dear life. Her red, swollen lips mumbled something, but I didn't catch it. She dressed in black jeans, with just a jacket and a scarf. It was hard to make out what she wore underneath, but I could tell it was a graphic tee.

"Sir, could you ... " the man who stood at the door started, "sir?"  
That brought me back to reality.

I pulled the girl's ear buds out, bringing her back to the same room as me.

Her eyes opened slowly, and I was captivated. Two small silver eyes stared into mine's.

She looked frightened, scared. Begging me to help her. She didn't want to leave with the guy, but was this really my place?

_I can't..._ I wanted to say out loud, to apologize, but couldn't, for she was running towards the guy faster than a fat kid after an ice cream truck.

Then she was gone. I sunk back into the bench, giving my eyes some rest.

I stayed in the bench for one mour hour, praying for my soul, as Jesus looked down upon me. In my mind, there was a war going on. A war between my two selfs. One which needed the blood, desired it... and one which felt compassion for the world, and was deteriorating slowly into nothingness. I needed help. God couldn't save me now, for my soul was more damned than the dead.

My leg was asleep, as I was lost in my fantasy world. The girl crossed my mind every second, and I chose to ignore her. I told her I couldnt help her, I asked her name, and I told her mine. She didn't say a word, and disapeared altogether from my memory, finally.

I opened my eyes, and looked around.

_I need to confess while my mind was still with me._

I walked towards the confessional booth, stuffing myself in there, making myself comfy.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." I started, waiting for someone to answer.

"If we say we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and refusing to accept the truth. Continue," someone spoke.

"My sins are unearthly, father, for no one in history has done what I have."

"Then you are unearthly, and should be proud, for one of this earth should be ashamed,"

The voice relaxed me.

"I have given myself to the devil, father, in hope of a present. I have put forth my needs and wants instead of the pleas of others, and have walked this planet for too long, without any vengeance extracted on me. I have murdered many, even tried to have my way with women, and acted in necromantic and cannibalistic ways. And now I fear my mind is deserting my body. I fear I shall not make the gateways of God, and will not bask in the glory which Jesus has promised one's soul. I fear for the woman who bore me, for her son has done such deeds, that she will have to pay. I worry, father, for the family and loved ones of those whose life I have taken without permission."

By now, my voice was breaking, and my concious had left me alone. Everything which came out of my mouth, was true, and I had told this stranger everything.

I waited for a reply. Nothing for at least a minute.

"What you have done... is what the devil wanted you to do, son. I'm afraid...I cannot help you. God may forgive you, son, and maybe I have, too. But I do not no for certain if you will get the treatment you want after life, for that is decided when one chooses to mend himself, his clothes, and the clothes on the back of those unworthy. What have you collected to sew back the tears on the clothes you wear?"

"Nothing ... yet, father, but I will! Anything!"

Tears ran down my cheeks, and I was not aware.

"Look not to me, but He who awaits thee."

God.

"That is all then, father. Good day,"

Silence.

I walked out of the booth, looking at the candles once again. I whispered a prayer, and walked out of the church.

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**Thank you** for reading.

**Next chapter **will not be done for a while, so you must wait .


	4. Dirty Collection of Scarred Sanity

**Author's Note** I take no claim of the wonder that is Patrick Bateman, for it is copy write Bret Easton Ellis. This chapter shall also be told from the point of view of Bateman, but don't worry, I will explore the minds of other characters. This and a few more will be the last chapters I will put up before going away to New York, and I will be gone from September 1st - September 5th. I shall try my hardest to pull some time out, try to start a new fan fiction. Some ideas are in my head, but I am looking for new ones. So review this chapter, and message me ideas if you are willing.

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**101 Ways to Get Away With Murder **

**_" _****_The Dirty Collection of Scarred Sanity_ "  
**

_Original Plotting and Original characters by __the Embedded Shame_

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I sat there, looking at the white computer screen as it suddenly turned black, hinting that the computer had shut off.

I closed my eyes, folding my hands to meet my lips.

It was interesting. To see myself loose control over my life, my friends, my sanity ...

But it was expected.

The spring brought with it a new kind of worry over me. Well ... it wasn't really new. I had been afraid of this when I first started to fulfill my lust for the flesh, and to see those that think of themselves as a deity suffer.

If not for this picture in my head, I don't know how I would have survived these past months. This picture, this essence, she guided me. Every time I would close my mind, this innocent individual would pop up in my mind. Her piercing eyes would look into mine's, telling me it was alright to be afraid. Telling me that she too was afraid once. Once a while, my urges did take over, and whenever I felt like it was my duty to put this person to rest, she would pop up. She was my personal angel, my savior of sanity for the moment.

Do I sound like im insane? Good.

This woman in my dreams, she was the same one I saw in that church. There was a connection, like she had a secret just like me.

Every time I saw her, I just wanted to ask her why she would not leave me alone. Who was I to her, and she to me? Why was she haunting me, for fuck's sake?!

_Grr..._

I pounded on my table, eyes still closed, arising from my slumber, if you'd call it that.

_Too much!_

Mary Sue ran through my mind, her posture, her please, her daunting words. She made me look like a bad guy. I wasn't a bad guy. I was just a guy, with a dark, dark, dark secret. Or more.

_It's all too much! I need to get away!_

I was rich, I had friends who'd bend backwards for me, and I was settled. Now, I just didn't know anymore. Maybe I didn't belong in this world. Maybe I belonged with my type. You know, killers...psychopaths...pathological liars, even. Everything leading to an asylum. Could it really be that bad? But my business would be ruined, everything!

What if I went on a leave, say about 2 years, and left Goodings in charge? By then, i'd have gotten some good enough help.

I'd see to it tomorrow.

Sighing, I sank back in my leather chair, glad that the day had finally came to an end. Tomorrow, that was another story.

Then footsteps approached me. I opened my eyes.

"Is that you, Manuella?"

"Yes, Mr.Bateman, and I have those documents you requested, signed by Surillo and Goodings,"

I forced myself up, watching her move swiftly, placing the papers on my desk.

Right after that...incident with Jean, I hired her. She wasn't that smart, not intellect wise, but what I mean is she doesnt have that suspicious persona to her. Sh didn't bother asking questions like why I wanted to hire her, what happened to the other secretary, like all the others I had interviewed. Of course, when I did hire her, it was because she was just so damn good looking! Her amazing, and natural, red hair and blue eyes drew me to her, immediately, and the way that she moved ever so swiftly wanted me to just ...

Well, You get the drift. But it wasn't like that anymore. I hated to see her. She reminded me of what i'd become that night, when I held Jean's skull in my hand, blood dripping down my elbow, wetting my underarms, as her body fell with a thud...

No, crap! I couldn't think like that! Not again!

"Mr. Bateman?" Manuella's soft voice rang in my ears.

"Sorry, I, uh ..."

"I know, Mr. Bateman, it's been a tough day."

_A day? Try a few years..._

"Uh, yeah, you have no idea. Why don't you, uh, clean this mess up..."

I said, pointing at the cluttered papers on my sofa, and balls of lined paper across the trashcan, which had missed while I was passing the time.

"...and join me for dinner at my place?"

I gave her a crooked smile. I wasn't particularly interested in this one, I just needed a little something to pass my time...

And there I went again. Those instincts sank in, and if it were quite enough, you could have heard my heart beat.

_Say no, Manuella, say no. _

"Sorry, Mr. Bateman, but not tonight,"

I sighed, as she looked at me awkwardly.

"Oh, no, it's, uh -- That's fine! I don't mind at all, I was just hoping to have company tonight."

"Oh, really? Because I can call a friend, or --"

"No, that's fine, Manuella."

"Mr. Bateman, is everything alright..."

"Yeah, of course! Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, you're sweating like you've just finished a ten kilometer run."

It was only then that I felt the sweat. I was fighting hard to control my urges, but not as much now. They were getting under control, but it wasn't advisable yet to be near me if you were a beautiful woman.

"Yeah, the Air Conditioning is broken, have that fixed for me, will you?"

I ignored her, and grabbed my coat off the chair behind me.

I didn't hear what she said exactly after that. It sounded like ass. Yep, that's me. Patrick Bateman, Mergers & Acquisitions, and part time ass.

I didn't care that she didn't like me. Half the people I worked with, in fact, hated my guts. It was a wonder I woke up every morning, alive!

By now, I was outside the building, waiting for my driver to haul up any second with my car.

It had been 20 minutes, and no sign of him yet. I didn't want to wait, so I was going to go myself.

While walking past the church with the triangular stained glass window, where I had seen my angel for the first time, I stopped, with a sense that someone was watching my movements.

And someone was.

I looked at the statue of Virgin Mary, and then to the window to its left, and sure enough, the old man to whom I confessed watched me with piercing eyes, like I was some demon, or worse.

That made me stiff, and mad, along with scared.

What if the world knew my ways...

Imagine at least half a dozen billion eyes, all with piercing glares as this man's. That would be enough to drive one to the insane asylums, before the police.

But for me, half a dozen billion eyes weren't enough. Just one was.

The coldness of April danced across my feet, pointing me in a direction unknown. I turned around, now facing west, and started walking. But where was I walking?

Half an hour later, I was at the doors of an asylum.

A mental asylum.

The screams and agonizing please which leaked through the gaps between the door woke up something else within me. Sympathy.

I was about to open the door, when someone opened it. Out came a nurse, with a man strapped on one of those beds you drag in the ambulance. She dragged him along, even after noticing me, and it was then I noticed the ambulance parked behind me. The man looked to be in his teens, and was begging to be released. The nurse showed no sympathy, screaming over the boy, dragging him into the ambulance, and closing the door, only after giving me a cold stare.

A shudder ran down my back.

Did I really want this?

Anything for my sanity back.

I looked around once more, feeling like I was being watched once again, and entered the asylum's doors.

What greeted me totally confused me. The man who had asked me to call the woman in the church looked at me, smiling.

"Good evening, sir. How may I help you?"

"Uh...i'm here to...just check some things, since I plan on admitting someone here,"

The man looked like he was recalling something. I gave him a minute, smiling back.

"I think I remember you, sir."

"Likewise."

Now that he stood infront of me, he was easy to make out. His eyes were not in fact blue, but a light shade of hazel. his skin was as porcelain as a doll, and his hair were bleached blonde. Almost perfect blonde, as messy as they were, I was a bit jealous. He stood a little shorter than me, but the height difference wasn't that much. What he wore, now I wasn't jealous of that at all. They looked like scrubs, but all white, like the walls and faces of this horrifying place.

"The guy from the church."  
"Yup."

He shook my hand, and asked me what I wanted. I had to repeat myself, and he apologized for that.

While walking around, he started talking about himself and this depressing places, and I just added a few nods and things, and pretended that I was interested, when I was bored as hell.

My eyes widened as we came across a room, empty yet full.

I stopped in my footsteps.

Then, there was my angel, curled on the bed, in a long collared shirt, with black tights and boots, listening to her music, and completely innocent. Her silver eyes, looking onto nothing, yet into everything.

For a second, I'd thought I was asleep. Maybe I was dreaming.

Sean, my guide, stopped along with me.

"You OK there, Patrick?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just give me a moment."

He noticed what I was looking at, and grinned.

"Beauty, isn't she?"

_You better not think like that if you want to live..._

"Who?" I asked.

"Yeah, whatever. Her name's Anna."

"Anna." I whispered.

I pulled myself away from her, and looked at the man's eyes, adoring her also. I wanted to just pull his eyes out, for looking at my...

_She's not your property_, the father's voice lured me away from the greedy area of my mind.

I smiled at the man, as he looked away from her, finally.

"Have you seen everything?" he asked.

"Just what I wanted to see anyways."

"And what did you want to see?"

"A place away from the mind."  
He rustled uncomfortably.

"But something else caught my attention," and this caught the Blondie's attention as well, "Anna in there, i'm her uncle, and i'm here to take her away."

Sean's eyes literally popped out, and his mouth went dry.

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."  
"What's her last name?" I asked.  
"I don't know."

"How did she end up here?" This was amusing.

"She admitted herself, without a reason."  
"Because her parents were lousy drunks, and her mother was a whore. They both beat her so much, leading her to believe there was something wrong with her as a kid, so she ran away. I know, she told me."

"But she's a mute!"

Crap.

"Only since she got here."

Not one of my best explanations, but it would do.

Sean sighed, and started walking to the main office, directing me to follow him.

He pulled out a chair, and I sat on it, facing him as he took a seat on the edge of his desk.

"Listen, you can't just come in here, claim that someone's related to you, and --"  
"I'm not pretending."

"How do I know for sure?"  
"Are you related to her?"  
"No."  
"Have you spent every single day of your childhood with her?"

"No."

"Do you have legal documents claiming she's your property?"  
"I,uh--"  
"No, you don't. I don't see why you're so attached to her."

"Listen, sir, she cannot leave just because you say so."  
"Then let her have her say."  
"Ok, then."  
He pressed the button on the microphone like device, and spoke into it.

"Hurley, send in Anna, room number 109, bed 3. Immediately."

Five awkward minutes of silence.

Then the door flung open, and my angel walked in.

I didn't rise from my seat, and pretended like I even noticed her, as she made her way in, grabbing a chair and sitting in it, like she'd come here regularly.

"Anna,"

Sean greeted her.

She didn't say or moved an inch, but rolled her eyes.

"Do you know this man?" Sean asked, pointing at me.

She didn't say anything.

"Yes, she does. like I've told you, i'm her uncle." At that, she looked at me immediately, and I looked at her, begging to play along.

"Is he your uncle, darling?"

_Darling?! I have every right to bash your skull on that sweet little desk you're sitting on_, _blondie!_

Urge. I was trying so hard to control urges. They were getting stronger by the second.

I still looked into Anna's eyes, waiting for her reply.

I slipped my hand in hers, and looked back at Sean's reddened face.

Sean stared at Anna, still, and watch her head nod.

Anger was visible in his eyes, and it kind of made me laugh a bit.

"Can we leave?" I asked.

"Ye-yeah. I'll have some papers sent that you're gonna need to sign, Bateman."  
"Sure, I'll leave my work number at your receiver."  
I arose from my chair, still with my hand in Anna's, and walked out of Sean's office, leaving my number at the receiver's like I had promised.

Hand in hand, I walked out of the asylum, happy that my angel was with me. Soon as the doors closed behind us, she pulled herself away from me as quickly, and stood infront of me, looking at me like I was just another man.

"Why?" she whispered. Her voice was like a choir of angels, atleast to me.

"Why what?" I asked, still drowned in her voice.

"Why did you...say you were my uncle?"  
"Because you asked me to get you out."

"No, I didn't."

"When we were at the church...you opened your eyes...you wanted me to help you, I could tell."  
She bit her lips, looking away from me.

_Please, look at me again..._

As she'd read my mind, she looked back.

"Can you get my stuff?"  
"How about tomorrow?"

I started walking, and I knew she was following me.

I'd follow her, too.


	5. Something In Common

**Author's Note** This chapter isn't that long, since I'm in the middle of sorting a few things out, for the trip to New York, even though we won't leave until August 29th. But I still have to buy this year's school books, supplies, uniform and have to collect some money for the new school identification card. It is around a hundred dollars. Damn that cheap school. I do apologize for this, but I am making an effort. Secondly, I wish to express my thank yous to _Laurenmlbc_ for expressing interesting in my story, and so this chapter is dedicated to her_. _The story today will be told from Anna's point of view, so you might need to be aware of that. At the moment, I am also reading _Dance With The Devil_, by _Jenny Joker_. It can be found in the_ Comics Batman_ section, so read that one, too, it's pretty freaking kick ass. And please, please, please review! My goal for August is getting at least twenty two reviews :)

* * *

**101 Ways to Get Away With Murder **

**_" Something In Common "_  
**

_Original Plotting and Original characters by __the Embedded Shame_

* * *

Sweat poured down my neck, as I awoke, screaming like a mad man. I tried to remember what exactly was that had scared me. I looked around me, in an attempt to make out where I was exactly. I lay in a bed, at least four times as big as the one I had slept in back at the asylum. The sheets were a shade of crimson, and so was the cotton blanket under which I had slept. I forced myself out of the bed, sore as I was. I was pretty aware how much I was moving, and struggling throughout that night. But why? I hadn't had a dream in more than four years. A cold breeze caught me off guard, and I pulled my long collared shirt down. I was no longer wearing my tights, or my boots. I couldn't imagine what might've happened to them.

I made my way across the bed, and to my left, where there was a dresser. I looked on the dresser, trying to find maybe a watch, or something which would indicate the time, since it would be impossible at this hour to even bother finding a clock in the room. I kept on knocking over cologne after cologne after cologne, when finally, my hand came across a cubic figure. I picked it up, bringing it to my face. It was a video camera.

_Still not a watch_, I thought, _but it would do._

"Put that down."

I turned so quickly to see who was behind me, that I swear my neck might have snapped. I put the camera down as the voice had ordered me, and moved away from the dresser quickly, and back into the bedsheets, since I didn't want this man to see me in this state.

In a second, the lights went on, and my head hurt like hell. It was as if I hadn't open my eyes in days! Just as they went on, I was obviously less scared, as I could now make out this person's face. Then my cheeks shone a bright pink.

He wore nothing but a towel around his waist, and another one around his neck. His dark brownish hair were a mess, and were wet, since the drips of water which fell from his locks could be heard.

"You're up." He spoke, a little less tensed now.

I nodded.

"There's a pair of...garments in the closet. I bought them yesterday night, after you fell asleep. Fell free to go through them."  
His eyes shone a light shade of brown, quite opposite then my own silver eyes. For a few seconds, he stood there, looking around.

"I know you can talk, so why not put on those clothes, and meet me in the living room in a minute. Then we can talk about a few things."

I was about to say something, but he left the room just as fast as he had come in. I got out of the bed again, and walked over to the dresser. I ignored the camera, not wanting him to yell at me again. I continued to look for a watch, but it looked like this guy just didn't own one.

_The lights are on, you idiot,_ I told myself. _Just look for a clock._

I looked around the room, until I found a spun silver wall clock hanging right above the bed. It was six o'clock. I had to guess if it was night, or morning, and looking out the window would be no help since it was pitch black. I decided to check those clothes that he mentioned.

There was a door next to the dresser, so I decided to investigate that. I turned the knob and holy mother of Jesus, this closet was half the size of this room. I walked in, and looked around. There were at least a hundred pairs of business suits, and blue jeans in there, and at least two hundred pair of fine polished shoes, all black. At least fifty of those shoes were sneakers and sandals. There was a cabinet within the closet, and sweat shirts folded neatly were stacked on khaki pants and other things. You could easily have gotten lost in there. I searched the perimeter, looking for the clothes he mentioned. There was a freaking computer there, for God's sake.

Everything was too much, at least for my liking. I was probably in there for ten minutes, and when I came outside, I held a pair of light pink underwear and bra, along with a pair of skinny jeans, which I'd never wore before, and a black Harvard hooded shirt.

I put everything on, and walked out of the room, glad.

The man sat on the sofa, his hair was now dry and he no longer wore the towels. Instead, he was dressed in casual Friday wear. A white and black argyle v-neck sweater, and Grey pajama, and a pair of matching socks.

Soon as I walked out, he lighted up. The smile on his face...

"Morning." It was a soft whisper.

I smiled at him, and sat down on the black leather sofa in front of him. All that separated us was a transparent coffee table, on which lay two mugs, with coffee inside.

"How did you sleep?" he asked.  
"Good." I lied.

His jaw tensed as if he knew I were lying, and that made me feel a bit guilty inside.

"Why did you say you were my uncle?" It was my time to ask the questions.

He picked up the mug in front of him, put it to his lips, and sipped from it. I did the same, knowing it was going to be a long conversation.

"Do you remember me from the church?"

"Yes."

"When you opened your eyes, I could see the hurt in your eyes. I knew what you were going through. I wanted to help you."

"How did you know where to find me?" I held onto the mug, even though it was burning my finger tips.

"I didn't. I went to the asylum to admit myself -- "  
"Why?"

"I haven't been a very good boy." He sipped from his coffee again. I could only imagine what he meant by that.

"Neither have I." This startled him, as he raised his eyebrow.

"Oh?" He looked at me with disbelief.

"You're right. I didn't want to be at the asylum. But I had no choice. It was for the better. What if I told you ... I'm insane. Would you still want to keep me around?" I didn't know what exactly, but there was definitely a connection between us. It wasn't love, it wasn't lust. Just a connection.

To my surprise, he nodded.

"How did you end up in the asylum?" He asked, getting up. I watched him walk to the kitchen to his left, as he poured the coffee down the drain. I don't know why he did, it was perfect.

"When I was fourteen, I ran away from home."  
"Why?"

I hesitated to tell him, but I had to tell someone. Anyone who would listen.

"One day after school, while I was walking home, this kid from school caught up with me, and started to ask me to do weird things. He was a senior, and I was a freshman in higshchool. I didn't know what to do, and I had anxiety issues. he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop asking me to ... touch him, to let him touch me. I couldn't take it. I yelled at him... He kept laughing. He dragged me in a closs by alley, and pushed me against the wall. He touched me...in weird places, I don't remember exactly, but I saw a big rock beside me. I wasn't thinking. I picked up the rock, and hit him...and hit him...and hit him."

I picked up my mug, and walked over to him, Patrick, in the kitchen. He now sat on a stool facing the counter. I pulled out another stool, and sat next to him.

"I remember...running out of the alley. With blood on my white uniform...and brains in my hand."

I looked up the entire time I was talking, pulling back the tears. But I could see that Patrick was looking at me. Not disgusted, but interested. He was the first person I'd told this to in years, and he didn't look at me like a freak.

"I wanted ... more," I whispered, just loud enough that he could hear.

"It wasn't enough. So I ran. To the asylum. I thought they'd help me. But they didn't. They kept on giving me different medicines, different drugs. I told them I was fine, I just needed to be left alone. Sean understood. He was my only friend there. But they said something to him, told him I was a freak. I ran away from there once. I ended up killing seven people. And I liked it ... if it wasn't for Sean, I wouldn't have stopped. But he'd changed..."

Patrick's arms were wrapped around me, as tears ran down my cheeks.

"We have something in common." He said. I could only imagine...and hope.


	6. Memento

**Author's Note **And I'm pretty sick right now, and mum and dad have gone a few places to buy some things, and I'm stuck at home, managing my sister at the same time as managing myself. So I thought I should just as well finish another chapter of it. Thank you to _pirateaddict, HelenaTwilight_, and also _livextreme26_ for taking interest in this story, and also making me feel like I have something good here, because I was seriously doubting. I plan on putting up a few Batman fan fictions and as well as Ironman, so keep a look out for that.

Today's chapter will be told from a few different people's point of view, but i'll let you know. You can now go to my profile page, and see pictures of the characters, and how I've imagined them, so you can, too.

* * *

**101 Ways to Get Away With Murder **

**_" Memento "_  
**

_Original Plotting and Original characters by __the Embedded Shame_

* * *

**_Sean__'s Point of View_**

It was Saturday, and even though I got off for the weekend yesterday, my work was far from over. Just who was this Patrick Bateman character? Where had he been these past few years, and who was he to suddenly sweep Anna off her feet? If you asked me, this was too damn weird, and If this damned computer wasn't going to load faster, I was seriously going to punch the monitor.

Finally! The search engine directed me to a local citizen account site, only available for the police. Don't worry, all in good time.

My fingers dashed across the keyboard, as I typed _Anna Moretti_ in the keyboard. In under .03 seconds, the engine had found three thousand results. No way was I going to look through at least three hundred pages, so I selected as to which network she was a part of, and took my chances and wrote in _Manhattan_. No results. I then typed in _New York_, and still no result. Why was she not in any records? Any kind of memorabilia would do...

I sighed in frustration, and typed in _Staten Island_. She couldn't have come from anywhere else. And if she did, someone must of drove her, or knew her. To my surprise, two results popped up. Before clicking anything, I read their descriptions. "_Anna Moretti Persaud._" I read her description no way was she my Anna. I didn't even bother reading the full description. Looking down the screen, I read the next name._ Anna Moretti Coladonato_, was supposedly a blonde, tanned and outgoing individual. Age was considered to be around twenty two, and supposedly, she'd been missing since she was ... fourteen. Huh. The description definitely wasn't Anna, but the date indicated the same day Anna arrived at the asylum, and the first time I'd first seen her. However, she wasn't tanned nor was she blonde. Definitely not outgoing, since she'd never talked to anyone at the asylum, and always kept to herself.

I hovered over her name, and clicked it, hoping for more information. Along with extra details, a picture of the girl when she was last seen popped up.

I had to squint to make out what exactly was in the picture, since it was a crappy resolution and the pixels were deteriorated. In the picture, a chubby man, dressed in a wedding tuxedo, held onto a smiling blonde, and full of life kid. I wasn't interested in what she wore, nor the man, but I looked hard at the child's face. Her bone structure, her silver cat like eyes, and her edgy personality...the difference wasn't even there. That was my Anna.

I got out of my chair, and walked to the small stool which rested beside my mattress. I grabbed a blank paper, and also a pencil and walked back to the computer table. I didn't sit down, there wasn't time. I jotted down the address, and bolted out of my crappy apartment like that.

**A_nna's Point of View_**

I was wrapped up in a blanket in his bed, with him next to me. His sudden shuffling and mumbles had woken me up an hour ago, and I had been awake since then. My eyes looked around and surveyed the darkness in the room, which I had now been accustomed to. I wondered how long I was going to have to stay here, and I was still confused as to why he'd taken me in, and as to how he'd managed to read me in a few seconds when we first encountered at the church. I quietly twisted my figure to face him. His eyes were closed, and he looked like he was dreaming something good. It made me smile, too.

For the past week, he had been sleeping on the hard leather sofa, just so I wouldn't have to, and because I felt sorry I'd told him it was alright to sleep next to me until we could arrange something. It was a surprise he didn't try anything, which I was so sure of. I guess he really didn't mean any harm.

I was only inches away from his face, and trying hard to read his expression. I bit my lip, as a sudden urge ran down my spine. His light pink lips were hard to not find attractive, and his pale skin just drew me in.

I'd shared innocent little incidents with him, things I'd never told anyone, all which brought a smile on his face. Small things, even, but there was doubt in the back of my head that he wasn't who he made it out to be.

Patrick and I had much more than I thought in common. Besides our views on self assured people and our lust for blood and bone, that is. In the past week I'd gotten to know him, somewhere along the track, he'd mention he liked _Huey Lewis and The News_, and other classical 80's music, mostly rock. My admiration for him immediately grew, because I was very passionate about that kind of music. Now that the music mainstream was changing, and as rap and hip hop was now most common, this was very rare to find.  
As I had to him, he'd opened up to me about small things like how he'd almost been caught once for his carelessness in a murder he committed and how he almost had feelings for his secretary, which to my and his surprise, made me uncomfortable to hear. His past was still a mystery, and he refused to talk about his parents. In fact, whenever the subject did seem to pop up, he would try and change it.

As if my thoughts were loud enough to wake him up, his eyes suddenly opened, and mine's shut tight in a second. I was afraid of what he thought I might have been doing. I felt the mattress sink to Patrick's side, meaning he was getting off, followed by the rustling of sandals. I opened my left eye, and watched what he was doing. I felt like such a stalker.

He stretched for a second first, and yawned, covering his mouth to make sure he wasn't disturbing me. He then reached for the hem of his white tee and slowly pulled it off, as I glared in jealousy at his abs and amazing figure, oddly unearthly, whereas mine was fragile, and petite. He walked out off the room, leaving me kind of hoping for him to come back.

"Tell me about your parents."  
I was shocked to hear his voice, however much it delighted me. He'd known I was awake the whole time.

"I didn't have parents. Did have a brother, though."  
"Oh?" He tried to seem interested, but he was still sleepy.

"Collin Moretti."  
He walked back in the room, while trying to button his shirt.

"What happened to your parents?" He walked to the dresser, fixing his collar, and came back to the side on which he lay just a few moments ago, with his eyes fixed at me.

"For my mum, it was overdosing on sleeping pills. My dad ... he committed suicide after he couldn't pay the bills."  
"Do you miss them?" All the while, he messed with his collar.

"No."  
"Why?"  
"I didn't like them. Not one bit. Do you know what I got for my birthday?"  
His eyes concentrated on me more. The tension mounted, and another urge ran through me.

"What?"  
"Twenty five cents."

Although he didn't show it, I found sympathy in his eyes.

"I don't like them very much either."


	7. Memory Lane

**Author's Note** This and another chapter will probably be the last ones for the next two weeks. I am feeling better now, but still have a light cough. Just after math. Sorry to keep you waiting for the next part, but I'm trying my hardest. Anyways, I've just watched American Psycho for the millionth time, and is it just me or does Christian Bale gets freaking gorgeous every time? Aha. On other news, read chapter one again, since it's updated and everything. Much more detail and thought had been put into it. So yeah, read it. And Please review this, a lot of thought has been put into this as well.

**Disclaimer** I do not own Patrick Bateman. he belongs to Bret Easton Ellis, however much I wish he belonged to me. Any other characters you may recognize are probably not mine.

* * *

**101 Ways to Get Away With Murder **

**_" Memory Lane "_  
**

_Original Plotting and Original characters by __the Embedded Shame _

* * *

_**Sean's Point of View**_

_89th and Hemingway_, I repeated in my mind more than I could count. _So close._

I kept my eyes on the cars and road ahead, ignoring the pressure of the wind on my arm which lingered out the open window. In a way, it was sort of soothing. I couldn't remember the last time I left the asylum.

I had vivid, clear, memories of Anna the very day she arrived, and the day she went mad.

She held onto a black carry on bag, tightly with both hands, as if her life depended on it. Her black hair, and pale skin could be seen perfectly under the hot summer sun, dancing with the warm winds. She wore a black, tattered, tube top escorted by a pair of light blue damaged jeans. As she walked through the doors of the asylum, which at that time were painted and not rusty, I was the first to greet her. Although, back then, I didn't work there, but I was there with my father because it was "take your kids to work because they aren't learning anything in school anyways" day.

"Hi!" I remembered yelling, literally, in her face. She didn't say a thing, but I kept on talking anyways. It wasn't until the staff asked her questions, that I figured out she was a mute. Father asked me to take her to the room she'd be staying in until they can figure out where exactly she was from. So I did just that, gladly. Love at first sight.

As we walked the whiteness, and passed the shrieks of patients, which I had blocked out from my mind completely, I took her bag from her, figuring she'd been holding on to that for a long time, and started conversing as always. "Nod if you can hear"

She nodded.

Good, some progress.

"What's your name?" I had noticed that she looked scared, and didn't want to be there, as if she'd been forced here or something.

"Is it...Michelle?" By now, I was just taking chances.

"Jennifer?"

"Jessica?"

She tilted her head from right to left, indicating that neither of those name were hers.

"You have to speak, you know."

She took a sudden turn, and walked up to a nurse, leaving me baffled. The nurse bent down, hand on her knees, and asked the kid who she was. Of course, no answer. Who would have thought? Then, the pale child reached up and pointed at the nurse's tag.  
I had to squint to read what it was. Being ten meters didn't really help.

"Your name's ... Anna?" She nodded.

And our friendship grew from there, although never once did she say anything. I'd learned to guess when she wanted something, or what she was saying, although I didn't have to, since she was capable of doing most things. She wasn't that hard to read, and still comforting to be around. Father and all of his staff weren't able to get anything out of her, where she was from, why she was here, and neither was I able to do anything to contribute. She simply refused to say anything. I didn't even know her last name, until one day when she pulled an old notebook (probably a diary) from her bag, and started to write in it, that I accidentally caught a glimpse.

But by then, everyone just went on minding their own business, and no one cared what Anna was doing, or how she was doing. They figured she wasn't talking because it was some illness, so they kept jamming her throat with different drugs, and medicines, and although Anna protested, no one cared. I was there to comfort her by the end of the day, but by then she'd be tired, or was passed out. Damned drugs. One day, I think she got tired of living here, being treated like shit, so she ran away in the dark of the night. The very next morning, a number of murders were reported in our area, so they automatically figured it was Anna. I didn't believe it, she couldn't do something like that. I still don't believe it, but when they brought her back, covered in blood, and screaming gibberish, I saw a side of her that terrified me.

I asked the nurse who clutched her arms around Anna's waist to leave the girl alone, and told her I'd handle it. Anna made no protest, and neither did the nurse. I ran towards Anna, and hugged her as tight as I could, as she did the same.  
I remembered whispering something to her.

"Don't you dare leave here again"

It must of sounded like a death threat, because I remember her eyes tearing up after I pulled away.

Nonetheless, no one pressed any charges because, well, no one outside the asylum knew it was Anna who went on that rampage. Not the police, not the families of the victims, no one. We decided we'd needed to increase her doses of the drugs, and morphine, and that would help her. Hell, was I wrong. That stuff was screwing her up more than ever. She stopped nodding, stopped interacting, and stopped living. All she'd do the whole day is listen to her music, more like noise, and lay in the bed. She'd only leave the asylum on Sundays and Thursdays for church, and even then, I was to accompany her, and make sure she didn't go on another rampage again.

So what could I have done? It was either my job, or Anna. Who was Anna to me anyways? Why was she so damn important? My job on the other hand, I'd strive for that for years, and after father passed away, there was no one else to take over but me. So I chose my job. Wouldn't you? But I regret my decision everyday. I had something that people were jealous of, something everyone searched for all their life, and died without ever catching a glimpse of it. I had Anna. She loved me, and I let her down.

I never met someone quite like her, someone so mysterious, so secretive, and so alluring all at once, and neither did I intend on forgetting her. Though, she'd probably had forgotten me by now. She was probably living life with Bateman.  
Just the mention of his name made me cringe.  
Although, I don't know why it did. If he really was her uncle, he wouldn't try anything. Then again, there were some pretty sick people out there. Just how sick was Bateman?

I got out of my car, shutting the door of the silver Porsche behind me, fixing my hair and clothes. I walked up to the huge gates of the mansion in front of me. it looked like no one lived there for ages, since the gates alone were covered with cob webs, meaning they had not been opened in a long while. I looked around as to how I could get in. Shit, I'd have to climb it. Just then, a heavy pour started, and it came down hard. Not a good sign, and not good weather to jump a gate, either. Although, what other choice did I have. The place didn't look friendly, and what if I did press that intercom button ... Intercom button? Duh.

I pressed on the button lightly, awaiting for someone's voice. It shocked me as to how fast the person replied, as if they had been watching and waiting for a long time.

"Who's this?" The person asked. the voice was definitely female, however husky it was.

"Police, ma'am." There was a moment of silence, then indistinct voices from behind the woman.

"I'll open the gate." She finally said, followed by a beep.  
The gate parted, and I ran through it as fast I could, since the pour was coming down hard.  
As I reached the door steps of the house, I knocked two times on it. By the third, someone opened the door. I stood at the door, being greeted by a man who looked to be in his late twenties, tall and mean. He stood at around almost 6'2 feet, with almost the same haircut as me. Mine's was slightly better.

"Good afternoon." I finally spoke.

He just nodded.

"Why're you here?" he asked.

"I need to ask a few questions about a Anna Moretti who used to live here."

Well, he snarled. Was that good or bad? He opened the door, moving out of the way, allowing me to come in. As I entered, there wasn't much to look at but a stone staircase that led to the second and third stories of the house, and the furniture which was covered in white sheets. It was very spacious, and the lack of objects in the house didn't exactly help fill the space. I was still amazed at the beauty of the house, and wished that my apartment would look like that.

"Mind everything. We were just moving."  
The man spoke.

"Oh, yeah? Where to?"  
"Not sure. A smaller place maybe, on the west coast. Don't get a lot of sun in this part of town."

"Yeah. I noticed."  
We both sat on the sofas which were also covered in white satin sheets. Just then, a brunette walked in the room. She looked very petite, and kind of tired. She walked over to the man's side, and sat down next to him, as he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"So, officer. What brings you here?" She asked me, challenging me with her eyes. She knew I wasn't an officer, but I'd continue to act it.

"I'm here to get more information on Anna Moretti."  
"Right. Well, you wont get that here. We don't know any Moretti's.  
"Really? So the mailbox out there, that's stolen? You know, that's a federal offense."  
The man shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortably at the woman. The woman looked straight at me.

"I'm Collin Moretti. Anna's ... brother." The man spoke again, this time in a quite tone.

"Perfect!" I had hit the jackpot, "Oh, and there is no mailbox outside."

The woman scoffed, disgusted, and walked away.

"Sorry about Madeline. She's just ... you know, female things."

"Oh, that's fine. So what can you tell me about Anna?" I pulled out a notepad from my back pocket in my jeans, and pulled out a pencil from my coat's pocket.  
"She was a real psycho, you know. Always threw tantrums, got pissed for no reason. Came home one day, with blood all over her. Said it was paint, but hell, she smelled like blood. Real weirdo."

"Uh-huh."

I listened carefully, to everything he said, hanging onto every word.

I didn't get much on Bateman, but sure as hell got a lot on Anna.


End file.
